A Vow of Silence
by HayashiOkami
Summary: When a boy is found at the bottom of a well filling with water, the race is on to rescue the other victims. The only problem is that the boy, the only witness, has been voluntarily mute since he was a child. An outcast, but highly brilliant, he dodges every attempt to ask about the man who kidnapped him. As it goes on, the agents begin to doubt that this unsub exists.
1. at the bottom of the well

**A Vow of Silence**

_When a boy is found at the bottom of a well slowly filling with water, the race is on to rescue the other victims, all in unidentifiable locations. The only problem is that the boy, the only witness, has been voluntarily mute since he was a child. An outcast, but highly brilliant, he dodges every attempt to ask about the man who kidnapped him. His family life, as well as that of the other known victims, comes into question as the agents begin to doubt whether or not this unsub actually exists._

**Chapter One: at the bottom of the well**

Water trickled from the garden hose in a thin, steady stream. The water level rose in fractional increments, currently at about five inches from the bottom of the dusty well. It had been dusty for years, most likely, and little scraps of animal carcasses were scattered across the floor along with random gum or candy wrappers from the neighborhood children. Those items were either floating on the rippling surface or had sunk to the bottom, but it was hard to see them anymore.

The constant sound of running water from above, splashing into the well, might have driven others crazy. That was why _he_ was the only one in a well located in a residential area. Most of the others had probably started screaming the minute they were placed down here, even through the gags. He had settled on the dusty floor without a complaint, so he didn't need to be bound at all.

He found the running water, while foreboding, a sort of silent comfort. Inanimate though it was, the splashing water had a calming affect on him. He much preferred a pensive sound to concentrate on rather than complete silence, after all. Silence was nice, too, but there was a certain point when it became oppressive and unpleasant. The kind of silence typically found at the bottom of a well, for example, would be oppressive. The air down here was harder to breathe than on the surface.

After the water level rose a few inches, he had slipped off his sneakers and socks. Now his bare toes felt the cold water running across them and the solid floor of the well. Both his ankles and his bottom were soaked, and it was somewhat uncomfortable. He considered taking his jeans off, too, but it would be quite embarrassing when someone found him to be undressed like that.

The distant sounds from above had died down long ago. The well created a strange vacuum in which those sounds were distorted, faint even from the yard next door. The summer sun had set, and it was cold now. The water was cold, too.

The only comfortable way for a boy of his age to sit in this small space was with his legs bent, arms hugging them or folded on top of his knees. His limbs were cramped and numb from the biting cold, but there was nothing to do about that. He put it out of his mind as far as he could and pressed his cheek against the side of the well. The stones were cool.

If not for the water - no, even with the water present - it was the perfect place to think in silence. He had never thought to meditate at the bottom of a well before, but then again, wells weren't very common. Dried up ones were in even less demand. Most were for decoration and were only a few feet deep. Still, if not for the inconvenience of the cold and the water hugging at his body, this would have been a nice place to think.

He had drifted off to sleep, waking only when he heard sounds reverberate off the walls of the well, echoing and distorted by the time his ears picked them up. The caught his attention because even the closest sounds from the neighbors during the day had not been nearly as loud.

The night sky was black. He couldn't discern where the rim of the well ended and the darkness began. The stars were so faint he must have been imagining them. Still, the sounds of people shouting were coming from the surface, and they must have been close. Even though he inched himself up a bit in curiosity, he quickly scolded himself for entertaining _that_ silly thought and sat his wet bottom back down. He had no way of catching their attention.

The water had risen up to about six or seven inches. His pulse was normal, his breath normal as he sat there and peered up at the opening. It was probably ten at night by now. What were people doing up there? This well belonged to an empty house currently being sold on the market, after all. No one had been interested in it lately, due to its unkept appearance, and certainly no buyers were about to visit at ten o' clock at night.

"_Oh my god,_ there's a boy down here!" shouted a man's voice from above. This time, he could hear the distinct words and realized that someone had found him, against all odds. Looking up, he saw a few faces in the opening, all horrified as they scrambled to call the police and yank the garden hose up with haste.

He had expected to quietly sit here, his life slowly seeping from him as he drowned, utterly alone as he listened to the rushing water around his ears and the joyful screeches from the world above. It was a painful, yet peaceful way to die.

Bright, penetrating flashlights shone down the cavern of smoothly polished stones. The sudden intensity rattled his system, his eyes burning as he buried his head in his arms. A few thin tears welled at the corners of his eyes from the sensory overload. The ripples on the water's surface shimmered, wavering bars of light that brushed and collided against his legs.

Voices were calling out to him, reassuring him in distorted tones that everything would be alright, they would get him out of there soon. A woman's voice in particular stayed with him the entire time as he closed his eyes to soothe the burn and block out the light. Now he was sitting in still, lifeless water that shifted only when he moved.

He wasn't going to die. If he repeated it enough, he just might come to believe it. He, who minded dying far less than the others, would live. Life and its little ironies were so cruel. It wasn't as if he wished for death, but more like he had come to accept it quicker than anyone else. He couldn't explain why the transition from thoughts of life to an imminent death came so smoothly to him, because he didn't _want _to die.

The proof of that came when his heart flickered painfully at the sight of the flexible ladder someone had tossed down. It clattered against the stones and swung to a stop against the walls. A large, dark figure descended to retrieve him, as his limbs were far too numb to support his weight. It was a police officer, as a firefighter's bulky uniform would impede his way down the narrow space. Even the thin, but broad shouldered officer had trouble maneuvering himself to land on the ground without kicking or stepping on him.

"It's going to be alright, you hear me?" the man said in a deep voice that resonated off the walls as he crouched down the best he could. After he had spent so long in silence, it took him a moment to process the clarity of the man's voice and nod in reply. The officer motioned for him to wrap his thin arms around the man's neck as he hefted the boy up. For his age, thirteen years and six months old, he was still small, light, and not very tall.

A firm hand held the back of his head for a moment, pressing him closer to the man's shoulder, before they started to climb. It was a struggle, as his legs were too weak to grasp the man's waist, and it wouldn't be safe for him to stay on the officer's back as they made their way up. He held on tight, though, and gave the officer little to worry about. He was dripping, but that didn't matter.

As he detached himself from the officer and stood on shaky legs, trembling from the piercing pain that invaded his flesh, the paramedics began to rush across the overgrown lawn. More as a test to himself than anything else, he forced his legs to shuffle over to meet them. It wasn't long before they sat him on the ground, checking his vitals, searching for any debilitating wounds. They waved away the officers trying to question him with fierce glares.

He glanced around, seeing over the paramedics' heads that the police and fire departments had shown up, as well as the rest of the neighborhood. People were roaming the streets in their night clothes, curiously migrating closer to the vacant house. The media had yet to intervene, and the paramedics were likely trying to make this business quick so that they could squirrel him away in the ambulance to avoid that.

They encased him in warm blankets and shuffled him over to the open doors of the ambulance, offering him a change of clothes and some privacy to slip into the sweatpants after he dried himself. They wanted to eliminate any adverse side effects from sitting in the water for hours, and let him take it slowly since there seemed to be no harm done to his person. As the situation wasn't critical, they allowed the officers in to question him.

They asked the basic questions:

Who did this to you?

What's your name?

Who are your parents?

He shook his head in reply to each inquiry, much to their befuddlement. They asked: Do you understand what we're talking about? He nodded patiently and pointed to his throat with one freezing cold finger. This was why he hated talking to strangers, to be honest.

They stopped bombarding him with questions when they found out about his _disability_. The word always left an unpleasant impression on him. If people were willing to pay attention, they would see that he could communicate with them perfectly. It might have been unorthodox, but it functioned well. Instead of confusing them with sign language only specialists would understand, he simplified it so that normal people would have little trouble speaking with him.

"What's your name? Who are your parents?"

_I'm Basil Lewin. _ Of course, he wrote that out for them on a piece of paper. _My mother is Atsuko Lewin and my father is Thomas Lewin._

"Who did this to you?"

_A man._ He refused to answer any further questions pertaining to his imprisonment at the bottom of the well, even with a pad of paper in his hands. Seeing his adamant stance on the subject, the paramedics forced the officers back and moved to close the doors as he settled down on the cot inside. They would first contact his parents, and then ask him more when he was safe and reunited with his family.

Before the door closed, he hurriedly held up a hand. _Wait, _it meant. _There are more children in wells like I was. Help them, please. The water levels will continue to rise._

The officer who rescued him leapt up the stairs and slid inside the ambulance as the paramedics closed the doors. He questioned the boy as he was coaxed down on the cot where the medics preformed their ministrations on him, but they didn't allow him to further interrogate the boy. All he was able to find out was that it was approximately seven hours before the first could no longer breathe.

The man in uniform cursed under his breath, perhaps thinking that the boy could not hear him, but he heard all too well. Even the quiet conversation he had in a corner of the tight space, amidst the paramedics' commotion, did not go unnoticed or unheard. The boy listened with closed eyes as the man called the station, spoke to the chief of police, and requested back up. He was put on hold for some time before he received the news that the case had been forwarded to the FBI.

The boy, of course, could have told them more. The information swirled around in his head, indulging in a lazy swim, useless unless spoken. He was tired, though, and bleary-eyed. Despite the gravity of his situation, he was miraculously composed, even if he was only thirteen years old. That didn't stop him from longing for his mother's embrace, though, and for the company of those who understood him.

Against his will, he drifted off to sleep a few times throughout the ride thinking about her. Would she be worried? He had never seen his mother lose her composure completely. She came undone every now and again, as was normal, but nothing he knew of had ever fully derailed her. He only thought about it because the medics mentioned how worried his mother must have been.

They reached the hospital, but he could barely notice the transition, too focused on the alarms blaring around him, the scents and glaring lights assaulting his senses, and the hands groping him. Well, they weren't _really_ groping him so much as they were poking and prodding in uncomfortable places, and asking too many questions for him to answer. He wanted to shrink away, sorely wishing at times that they would have just left him at the bottom of that well.

When he was finally isolated, there was only a doctor and a couple of nurses around. They listened to his heart and lungs, checked for injuries, and examined his body for any signs of trauma that might have stolen his voice. They preformed a number of familiar tests on his throat, and although he knew the outcome, refused to say anything on the matter. They wouldn't believe him, anyways, if he tried to convince him that there was nothing physically _or_ mentally wrong with him.

A nurse took his blood and he waited patiently as they drew the sample from his thin, pale arm, even when they had difficulties locating a vein and missed the first two times. Someone else shined a light in his eyes, his mouth, nose, and ears. To make sure that he wouldn't contract any infections from the water and debris at the bottom of the well, they had him take a shower.

Later, provided warm comfortable clothes, he was sitting with a nurse on a hospital bed in the children's ward. She explained in clear, easy tones that they would wait for his parents, run some more tests, and observe him for the night in case he had contracted anything. He nodded and picked at some magazines they provided in the room for the parents of the patients. The colorful kiddie books didn't interest him.

They returned to take a few skin and hair samples, probably intended for the investigation instead of his health, and finally received the faxed records from his pediatrician. Baffled by the long list of results, the doctor in charge came in to ask him whether or not the information was correct. He smiled and nodded.

There was nothing physically wrong with him. Mentally, he had experienced no trauma horrible enough to convince him to stop talking. But at six years old, he had suddenly become silent and never spoke a single word since. When anyone pressed him for the details, he simply shrugged it off and smiled. He either had no explanation or had no desire to explain why. It perplexed everyone who knew him.

The final test they ran before his mother arrived managed to unsettle him more than the rest of the night. He understood sex, yes, from textbooks. He told them that the man who placed him in that well had done nothing sexual to him, but they insisted on doing the test. His mother had even consented to it over the phone.

It was vaguely discerning and very uncomfortable, more so than the dozens of tests people had done to his throat and mouth when he was younger in an attempt to figure out what had happened to make him become mute. Still, because his mother expected him to, he behaved himself and didn't protest. He even smiled at the nurses afterwards.

* * *

- Since people ended up liking this, I rewrote this chapter. Hope it's better.

- This was completely inspired by Haruki Murakami's _The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle._ The character Basil Lewin is inspired by Cinnamon. I don't own any of the references in this story.

- Other references will reveal themselves as the story goes. See if you can spot them all! Some are from Haruki Murakami's novels and others are from anime/manga series that I like.


	2. the crossroads of lives

**A Vow of Silence**

_When a boy is found at the bottom of a well slowly filling with water, the race is on to rescue the other victims, all in unidentifiable locations. The only problem is that the boy, the only witness, has been voluntarily mute since he was a child. An outcast, but highly brilliant, he dodges every attempt to ask about the man who kidnapped him. His family life, as well as that of the other known victims, comes into question as the agents begin to doubt whether or not this unsub actually exists._

**Chapter Two: the crossroads of lives**

The call was sudden and urgent, originating from a residential area in New York state. The team was just about to shut the lights off and head home when JJ received the call that had been forwarded to her. A moment later she was down the hall, shouting for everyone to come back. After a few seconds of confusion, they were jostled into action and hurried to gather the equipment they would need to form a profile on the airplane.

At nine forty-five in the evening, someone had called the local police because they found a child trapped at the bottom of a dried out well slowly filling with water. Instead of revealing the identity of his kidnapper, the boy only told them that there were more victims trapped inside wells in the surrounding area. From the quiet neighborhood in which he had been found, the boy was transported to the nearest hospital.

The child was healthy, currently waiting to be reunited with his parents, and had not yet been questioned further by the police. The only other detail he revealed was the approximate amount of time they had been allotted. So far, the police had little luck in trying to locate the other wells, as a dried up well wasn't exactly a place they expected to find missing children. No one kept track of those things.

Garcia leapt on the computers and the agents unpacked their laptops as soon as they boarded the airplane. So far, the only thing JJ had been told was the identity of the boy and his parents. She tried to request more information off of the local police, but they were just as stunned and had some problems talking to the boy about it.

"Basil Lewin," JJ began as the plane was taking off, "is mute. Since his parents aren't there yet, it's hard to talk to him. The doctors think that he might have suffered some sort of trauma, so they're reluctant to let the police question him."

Garcia opened the wireless connection between the agents and her computer within the next five minutes. Her voice came through, the sounds of rapid typing reaching their ears. A few quick pictures flashed on the screen.

"_Say hello to Basil Lewin,_" she said in an atypically rushed voice. A photo taken with a clean white wall behind the subject showed up, depicting a small, pale boy with dark hair. He was impeccably dressed, giving off a very neat image without any effort on his part. Garcia next pulled up his files, of which there were many. She whistled as they kept popping up. Next, she found his mother's files, having only gone through half of the boy's medical records.

"_Okay, let's start with the basics...he's thirteen years old, has a truckload of medical records, and is a perfectly healthy little boy. To be a little more specific, his mother is Atsuko Lewin, a Japanese born American who married Thomas Lewin, an American. They are both clothing designers...and oh…_" Garcia's voice trailed off. She had yet to reveal what had shocked her, but before anyone could ask, a rectangular file appeared on the screen.

It was a death certificate for one Thomas Lewin, dated just two years ago. It went on to show the coroner's reports on the official cause of death, which in turn yielded the official and closed investigation of Thomas Lewin's murder. He had died in a hotel room, half strangled with his throat slashed, while he was in the middle of an affair. His wife had a solid alibi, and one year ago they had apprehended the true murderer. The case was still being processed by the courts to determine the fate of his killer, but it was all but closed.

"It might have something do to with the boy's kidnapping, but this is a bizarre MO. This unsub had to have _really_ researched the surrounding area, even if he's lived there all his life. How else would you find out where all the dried up wells in the town are?" Morgan proposed. More importantly, the question that was bothering the agents was how far apart the victims had been placed in their prisons and how many of them were there.

"What else do we know about the boy?" Hotch asked.

"_As you can see, he has more medical files than anyone I've ever seen at his age, for a healthy boy, too. I think most of these are just different types of attempts to figure out why he's mute. Here's the funny part: he was born with perfect senses. Even now, he seems to have no issues with his hearing, sight, et cetera. The only problem is the fact that he stopped talking when he was six years old. The doctors can't figure out why. Let's see...he even went to a few child psychologists._

"_They found out that he has a rather high IQ, and he seems to be home schooled. Nothing traumatic happened to him. His mother reports that he was fine and talking to them the day before, and suddenly he stopped speaking. Financially, the family is sound. The mother and father made quite a bit of money. As for the murder…_

"_The mother, in an interview, said that while she was terribly sad that her husband was murdered, she did know about the affair. However, she never said anything to him, and they weren't thinking about a divorce. She's just beginning to reemerge in the fashion world after his death."_

"So, we have a few motives right there," Rossi said. "It could be to cripple a competitor or as a personal grudge against her. What better way is there to get to a mother than through her kid? Maybe it's a carry over from the affair. "

"I bet you know all about that, right?" Prentiss chuckled, quickening quieting when he gave her a glare.

"Do you think the boy knows where all the other victims are?" said Hotch. He added, "Reid, get some maps together and make a geographical profile. Garcia, search for recent missing children reports in the area. When did the boy go missing and from where?"

"_Well, his mother reported it right away. He's normally very punctual. The official report says that he went missing two days ago, when he went grocery shopping and never came home. It seems that Basil was the one who took care of the house most of the time. His mother knew it was strange when he didn't return._

"_As for any other missing child reports…_" Garcia hummed a short tune for a moment while the search engine ran through the database. "_Here we go…in the past month there's been about eighteen cases reported in this county. Five were resolved and the other thirteen are still open. One is Basil Lewin's, which will be closed as soon as they update the system. If you're looking at the teenagers, there are six cases from ages fifteen to eighteen and only one other that is thirteen as well."_

Hotch gave a pensive stare at the statistics. "Are there any closer to Basil's age? He might have a predisposition for that age range. Try the ones slightly younger than that bracket, too."

"_Okay…out of the five remaining, two are young, eight and seven, and of the last three, one is twelve and two are eleven. It's a mix of boys and girls. I'll just send you their files. As you can see in about three seconds, most of them went missing while they weren't with their parents, and their parents reported them missing within a day of their disappearance._"

They ruled out the teenagers. Some had been suspected of running away, but it wouldn't make much sense for the unsub to abduct a teenager, many of whom were much taller and heavier than Basil Lewin. In order to force them down a well, it would take physical strength and was likely to have caused a ruckus. The younger children were easier to handle.

"We can't rule any of the younger kids out until we know how many are actually missing. We'll have to wait until we talk to Basil. Alright, we're going to split up and work fast. Prentiss and I will go to the hospital. Rossi and Morgan will visit the neighborhood where they found the boy and Reid and JJ will go with the officers to the station. At least we probably won't need to worry about the press this time."

"_Hey… guys…_" Garcia's voice said slowly over the speakers. "_I'm not sure if this has anything to do with it…but here's some of the files on the other missing children. There's the other thirteen year old…her name is Harper Adair. She went missing when she was camping with her older brother and his friend. She's mostly home schooled, too. Judging by the extensive medical records, she probably shouldn't have been camping in the first place._"

"Do they frequent the same hospital?" Hotch asked quickly.

"_Sort of, since Basil Lewin seems to have been seeing more psychologists and specialists than doctors, but yes, their families use the same hospital. While we're at it, Harper has a form of hemophilia, type B, which is probably the cause of her horrible attendance at school. I guess they're still in the process of taking her out._"

"She has hemophilia? That…might not be good. How long has she been missing?" Prentiss asked. Garcia reported that she went missing last week, about six days ago, over the weekend.

"Uh, Garcia, what else can you find out about the severity of the hemophilia?" Reid piped from his spot off to the side with a local map of the town and a few markers. "Depending on which severity she has, if she gets even a small cut and doesn't go to a hospital right away, she could bleed out. It's far less common in females, but nowadays it's become more prominent."

"_Well, I'm guessing these numbers aren't very good…I don't think, from these files, that she has ever been to the emergency room, though. Also, also…her parents are full time workers. Her brother's in his last few years of high school. They seem normal, no visible criminal records,_" Garcia said. "_Here's a picture of her._"

Harper Adair had short dark hair and light eyes with pale skin and an even expression. Her school ID showed her dressed well in a button up shirt, like Basil Lewin, although nothing could match the thirteen year old's impeccable appearance. A thin pair of wire framed glasses were perched on her face.

"Are any of the others home schooled?" Hotch asked. "And do they get tutors or do the parents do it themselves?"

"Check the hospitals, too," Rossi interjected.

"_Let's see…they use two different online sites and no tutors as far as records go. Maybe it's off the books? The parents, especially Mrs. Lewin, seem to be pretty busy, though. Out of the other kids, the seven, eight, and eleven year olds are fine and go to public school. The twelve year old girl isn't even from this country. Looks like she, her younger sister, and her father recently moved here from France. And would you look at that - she was born mute and doesn't go to school on a regular basis._"

The team was already forming ideas in their heads, connecting the now obvious links between the potential victims.

"_As for hospital records, at your request…okay, the twelve year old girl's name is Clarisse Leon. She doesn't seem to have an extensive medical record. But, oh, her father is a doctor at the same hospital that the other two kids go to!_" Garcia finished rapidly. "_And before you say anything, I'm checking for his track record and…nothing, no malpractice suits or anything. He's pretty clean from what I can see on the surface. Give me some time to dig._"

"Alright, so what can we see about how this guy works and who he targets?" Hotch prompted the team.

"They're all younger kids that are easy to apprehend."

"Everyone is connected to that hospital in one way or another. We should run a search on all the staff and personnel who go through those doors daily. Plus, when we get there, someone should question Dr. Leon. Maybe someone has a grudge against him."

"Don't forget Mrs. Lewin and her husband's affair."

"_I'm on that search right now. Any other specifications you have besides scumbags with criminal records?_"

"For now, it's probably not someone in a high standing job or position, if he feels the need to kidnap kids. He probably doesn't have much self-confidence."

"He also goes after kids with disabilities and who are home schooled. There doesn't seem to be any correlation between race or gender and the doctor at the hospital they brought Basil to didn't report any sexual assault."

"Plus, all of them disappeared when they were separated from their parents except for Harper, who disappeared when she was with her brother. About Clarisse - how did she go missing?"

"_The report says that she was gone when her father came home from work. Her younger sister was at daycare and she was home alone. The neighbors reported seeing her around until about noon. They thought that she went inside._"

* * *

- More characters are revealed! Thanks for all of the support! I wouldn't have continued without it.

- This part is heavily dialogue based...after all, they are on a plane from Virginia to New York. Please ignore the inconsistencies with the time if it doesn't add up. You can probably get the references judging by the names I gave them...sometimes. As for that last part, it's totally up to your imagination as to who said what (except for Garcia).


	3. a study in perspectives

**A Vow of Silence**

_When a boy is found at the bottom of a well slowly filling with water, the race is on to rescue the other victims, all in unidentifiable locations. The only problem is that the boy, the only witness, has been voluntarily mute since he was a child. An outcast, but highly brilliant, he dodges every attempt to ask about the man who kidnapped him. His family life, as well as that of the other known victims, comes into question as the agents begin to doubt whether or not this unsub actually exists._

**Chapter Three: a study in perspectives**

Basil Lewin was a strange child. There was no other way to describe him. He spoke with the voice of a child, but his tone did not match his predicament or age. Whatever he had to tell the agents he conveyed in straightforward, honest sentences with smiles and frowns in all of the appropriate places. They didn't doubt his sincerity, but constantly waited and watched for his facade to slip.

His mother, too, never uttered any unnecessary words. Her terse, clipped tone answered their questions about her husband's murder, providing no information that they didn't request. This was hardly due to her unwillingness to give them what they needed for the investigation, but as Hotch suspected, it was probably part of her reserved personality. Perhaps her husband's death and infidelity still weighed heavily on her mind, despite her outward appearance.

"What were the other kids who were with you like? Did they tell you their names?" Prentiss asked. They had already been told that there were four other victims in addition to Basil. If they drove him around town, he said, he might be able to distinguish where they had been deposited. His inability to speak and compliant nature made him easy to keep captive. Thus, he had been the last stop before their unsub drove off.

Of course, Basil Lewin didn't talk to them in the literal sense. His mother translated his odd mixture of sign language and common sense hand movements, and to their surprise it was relatively easy to understand him. When he saw fit, he lip synced, and when his words weren't enough he drew carefully constructed diagrams on a notebook in crayons. The two agents could almost hear his voice, as if it was reaching them from a far off place, but of course no sound came out of his mouth.

_I don't see my silence as a disability, _he had informed them with a slight downward twitch of his lips. A small smile dawned on his face afterwards. _Using only sign language to speak just isolates me from the rest of you. I'm a normal person, you see? There isn't anything special about me._

The boy thought for a moment, writing down three given names on the paper in dark blue. The colorful pack of crayons was on the tray where patients usually took their meals, and he had found the crayons in a drawer as the agents entered the room.

_I never got the last girl's name. She is mute, like me, and doesn't know English. So we couldn't talk to her and she couldn't talk to us. She had dark wavy hair and light eyes, hazel like this crayon,_ Basil indicated, holding up a golden brown. _She wasn't quiet, though. She fought the man with all she had and bit him once. But she wasn't mute like me; she could make noise._

At the agents' puzzled look, his mother interjected, "Basil can't scream, even if he's hurt. He can't make any sound when he cries, either. I've seen it before. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how much pain he's in, not a sound comes from him." She wrapped an arm around her son for a moment and promptly released him. "The doctors can't explain it. His vocal chords aren't damaged, but he's like this."

_Well, that's just me, but this girl could scream. It was a hoarse kind of scream, like she doesn't use it much, and it was kind of low, but she did fight more than anyone else. She was the third one he found. I was the last. He had to keep her tied up, like some of the others. He also dropped her off first. It was in a place with a lot of trees surrounding it, but had a lot of open space as well. There was no one around and the buildings were old._

"The buildings...you could see them? What were they like?" Hotch asked. The boy blinked a few times and titled his head to the side, staring at a far corner.

_It's hard to remember. Everything was so hazy and I was dizzy, so it was difficult to concentrate. It was all in the evening. The buildings…no one lived in them for a long time. There were big fields of tall grass. We were in a white truck like the ones that carry building equipment._

Hotch and Prentiss shared a glance. Basil had not been bound and gagged as he said some of the others were, but the unsub still took no chances and drugged him. If so, the drugs he gave Basil must have had enough time to leave his system, since the doctors here had already done all the standard tests, which came back negative. Of course, date rape drugs or chloroform on a cloth would produce the desired effect.

"Do you remember the man doing anything to you that made you sleepy or dizzy afterwards?" Prentiss asked the boy without prompting him. Even if he was a reliable source, it was still against protocol to lead the witness on, especially children.

_Nothing in particular,_ he shrugged. When the agents didn't ask anything more, he figured he could move on with the story. _Next was a boy. He came after the girl. It was hard for anyone to talk to him, because he was so hysterical, even when I arrived. He wouldn't stop crying and blabbering. He said his name was Jack, but he was always crying or really quiet, and I didn't hear his last name. He had red-brown hair, rust colored like this._

Basil held up another crayon and carefully replaced it in the beaten container. _I can't remember where he put Jack. It was a quiet place, though. He fought a lot and the man got really frustrated. He gagged so that he wouldn't scream and attract attention._

_The one who came right before me was called Harper. He was nice and the only one that would talk. It didn't even take him long to figure out how to speak with me. He's my age. He would argue with the man, but he didn't fight so much. He had a lot of nice things to say. He was dropped off after Jack. The man told me, "Your little friend was very well behaved", so I guess he did alright._

_There were a lot of trees around there, and we went a long while in the car before the man dropped off the last boy besides me._

"Wait a second, you said that Harper…was a _boy?_" Prentiss said incredulously. Basil blinked and nodded.

_He had short black hair and said he wore glasses, but lost them when the man took him. He couldn't see me well, but I could see him._ The boy cast them a curious look, but didn't press for the answers he knew they couldn't provide. For the most part, the agents considered the possibility that Basil had only assumed Harper was male. Without his mother to translate, they wouldn't have known through his "common sense" hand signs alone. Harper would most likely have never known, either.

"Harper Adair is a girl," Hotch informed him, much to Basil's surprise. The boy thought for a moment, lifting his head and opening his mouth as if to speak, before turning away and shaking it off. He still seemed conflicted even as he continued the conversation.

_The last boy looked young. He was tiny and sat in a corner or against a wall, curled up and silent most of the time. He had been there the longest and refused to talk to us, even Harper. He…she managed to get his name, but it was really hard to hear him and he didn't even want to tell us that. The man would get frustrated whenever he focused on him, but like me, he didn't fight or talk back. He liked us, I guess._

_The boy's name is Skylar. He wouldn't tell us his last name. He was very quiet, but Harper and I convinced him to talk a bit. He was always whispering, "It's okay. I'm all right with this. I want to disappear. I can't hurt them anymore here." It took a long time to get him to say that much. He was skittish and didn't resist at all when the man put him in the bottom of the well._

_Oh, he also had dark hair and…blue eyes, I think. He was very skinny. I couldn't tell if he was a boy or a girl at first. When Harper asked him, he freaked out and insisted that he was a boy. I thought it was strange, but we left it at that._

Hotch excused himself as Prentiss continued to question the mother and son. They had a problem on their hands. As he called Garcia and waited for her to pick up, he glanced into the hospital room through the window on the door. There were too many variables. Basil still refused to tell them anything about the man who kidnapped them and wouldn't give a reason why, either.

"Hey, Garcia, we have a problem. Look at the list of missing children again. Is there a boy named Skylar there? He might be one of the younger ones," Hotch supplied.

"_Skylar, Skylar, Skylar…um, nope, sorry, no one reported him missing. Are you sure that's his name? I'll check the rest of the state, but I might end up getting too many results. Can you narrow it down?_"

"According to Basil, that's the name he gave. He told us that the boy looks young and has black hair and blue eyes. That's about all," Hotch said. "Thanks, Garcia; can you call the others and confirm that Harper Adair and Clarisse Leon are definite victims? Oh, check that pool of names. It's kind of broad, but is there a boy named Jack? He has reddish-brown hair."

"_Jack, oh yes, there is a Jack! Jack Sadler, one of the eleven year olds, and I'll send you his information right now,_" Garcia said excitedly. "_He doesn't seem to have been home schooled, though._"

"That's alright. Thanks Garcia," Hotch hung up the phone as he stepped into the room.

"Are you sure you can't remember anything else about the man who kidnapped you?" Prentiss asked the boy gently. He shook his head, drew his hands into his lap, and mouthed a few words. His mother leaned forward to have a good look at his face and tapped him lightly on the cheek. He seemed to withdraw even more at her prompting. "Don't worry; he can't hurt you if you're here. You won't get in trouble."

"That's not it," his mother explained. "He said he's tired and can't tell you anything else. He would like to help, but it was dark most of the time and he couldn't see the man clearly."

Prentiss was about to open her mouth when Hotch shook his head and thanked the mother and son for their cooperation. As they were leaving, Prentiss shot him a worried, skeptical glance.

"They might be lying. We don't know for sure that she's translating correctly and there's no time to call in a specialist in sign language. She is his mother, after all. Maybe she's trying to protect him and maybe he's too afraid to say anything else about the unsub."

"We'll have to trust them. There's no time. The others should be done with the profile, but we need to find those kids first. From what Basil told us, the first site is probably an abandoned farm. Call Garcia and the others as we're driving." Hotch and Prentiss walked swiftly through the hospital, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, shuffling along until they were in the car. "Tell them that we're looking for someone with a white utility van."

"Right, so what happened when you were out of the room?" Prentiss asked as they were driving off.

"I called Garcia, but she says that there's no one named Skylar on the missing children's list. Jack's full name is Jack Sadler, an eleven year old. He wasn't home schooled and was abducted sometime at night from the local mall. She's trying to find out now if Skylar is from a different state or if he was using an alias."

As Prentiss made her calls, Hotch focused on the road. His mind, however, was preoccupied by the strange words Skylar had supposedly uttered. Even more important was the pressing question of whether or not they would save these kids on time. He supposed it was a good thing that Basil had a better recollection of Clarisse Leon's dump site, seeing as she was the first victim.

What a strange case.

* * *

- So, an update. The story is progressing and we now have a bit more on each of our victims.

Please R&R!


	4. a voice without words

**A Vow of Silence**

_When a boy is found at the bottom of a well slowly filling with water, the race is on to rescue the other victims, all in unidentifiable locations. The only problem is that the boy, the only witness, has been voluntarily mute since he was a child. An outcast, but highly brilliant, he dodges every attempt to ask about the man who kidnapped him. His family life, as well as that of the other known victims, comes into question as the agents begin to doubt whether or not this unsub actually exists._

**Chapter Four: a voice without words**

The girl named Clarisse was not born mute, nor did she voluntarily decide to stop speaking one day for some inconceivable reason. Her brand of silence was etched against the fair skin of her throat, a small imperfection that had stolen her voice three years ago. It no longer hurt except when she screamed and if she didn't want anyone to see the thin slice of white, all she had to do was choose her clothing carefully.

It inconvenienced her, sometimes, but Clarisse had never been a talkative child in the first place. What she wanted people to know she expressed clearly through her expressions and body movements, and few people ever got the wrong idea around her. Her little sister was a hyperactive ball of excitement, her complete opposite, but they didn't argue too often. Her father, a single father since his wife left him with Clarisse and her sister, had divorced precisely because of that silence.

They were a strange household, but if anyone dared point that out, they would be quick to visit the nurse's office. Even though her family might not have been the closest, as her father was always working and she and her sister were different enough that they had almost no interests in common, they still loved each other. She had to say that she had a fairly happy family life, despite the absence of her mother, who was still in France with her new boyfriend.

Three years ago, in the car accident that stole her voice, Clarisse had almost lost her life, as well. It had been just her father and her, when they still lived in France. It was a freak accident like any other, an accident that could have happened anywhere else in the world at any time. Her father's skills as a certified doctor had probably saved her life until the paramedics arrived, but he could not save her voice.

She never wished for it more than now as she sat at the bottom of a filthy, muddy well filling with water. This place was secluded, no doubt, but if she had had a voice, she could have screamed even harder before she ever wound up here. It irked her that the others refused to at least _try _and call for help. Most of them were silent, except for that one boy who annoyed her because he did nothing but cry.

On the other hand, it was far too quiet at the bottom of this well. She might have been mute, but Clarisse's life was full of vibrant sounds. At first, living in the suburbs had disoriented her, since she was used to the consistency of the noises found only in cities. Aside from the occasional birdcalls overhead and the crickets' chirping, it was completely silent. She couldn't even hear any cars on the nearby road.

She refused to accept that this was where her life ended. There had not been any time to think about that in the car, and so the moment had come and gone before she knew what happened. She had flittered between life and death then, but it was for a relatively short time and she was hardly conscious while her father worked. It was nothing like this tortuous anxiety at the inevitable.

It took all of her self-control not to scream or hyperventilate and think of how it would feel when she could no longer breathe, when icy water was all that surrounded her. She pushed those thoughts away as they came, but she wasn't very good at ignoring those types of things. They returned no matter what she did to avoid thinking about dying here, unknown and forgotten. Would anyone even find her body?

She brushed her fingers against the rough stones in front of her, but there were no grooves large enough for her to latch onto so she could climb out of here. The hose was hanging somewhere above her head, but she definitely weighed too much to use it without dislodging it from its source. If it did that, the water would stop, but that meant she would still have no way of getting out.

It was a much worse death to slowly die of starvation down here for weeks than to drown in a matter of minutes. She didn't touch the hose, even if the water was beginning to creep up her body, soaking her clothes completely. Whether or not she closed her eyes, the complete darkness choked her in its grip. Without the moon directly overhead, she couldn't even see the outline of her hand. Wherever she was had absolutely no light present.

Clarisse must have fallen asleep at one point, because when she woke, it was to a brightness so intense for a moment she believed that she had to have died and passed on to Heaven. The glare flickered on and off or, rather, back and forth as the people overhead scrambled about to save her from the well's clutches. When Clarisse realized that she wasn't dead yet and that there _were _people here, she forced her frozen and cramped limbs to unfold.

The water, to her amazement, had risen quite a bit. She stood, shaking it off and shivering all the while as she inclined her head up at the opening of the stone rimmed well. A bright, painful sensation struck her in the chest, just as bright as the light that had woken her from her lethargic slumber.

She thought of her father and sister how she had seen them last and just managed to wipe the grin off her face as a figure lowered himself down into the well. It was a man in a dark outfit and bulletproof vest with white letters spelling out FBI on the chest. He managed to grab her around the waist and she in turn wrapped her arms around his neck, despite the numb cold that prickled all along her limbs.

"You're Clarisse, right? Your father's waiting for you at the hospital," he reassured her before he started up the precarious, rickety ladder that had been thrown down the side of the well. Clarisse grinned to herself, a wild, insane grin she could not control. She would never admit that she wanted to see her dad or her sister so badly, but while she was still in the dark, facing away from all other people, she allowed herself to entertain that thought.

_Ha, you didn't win after all! They found me, they found me, _she thought through chattering teeth and quivering legs. The paramedics were right there, ready to take her off the FBI man's hands and transport her to the hospital. She had never liked the place her father worked in, even though she had grown accustomed to staying there for one reason or another. It was always such a mundane, painful place.

The abandoned, ramshackle farm that would have served as her final resting place wasn't much better. She could only see warped shadows, twisting around buildings and objects like the creatures out of a gothic novel. Even the shapes of the people who had rescued here were distorted and uncertain until they walked into the light from the police cars or ambulance. Wherever this was, there was only darkness, with tiny points of light further on down the road.

Despite herself, she had rushed into her father's arms the moment the paramedics released her. She did it, not expecting him to return the gesture whole-heartedly, and was pleasantly surprised when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and ruffled her damp, tangled hair with his other hand. A faint, tired smile was on his lips, and he didn't speak as they stood in the lobby for a few moments before the doctors had to take her.

Her father always looked a bit older than his age when he was at work. She supposed it was the nature of his occupation, but it had been a subject of annoyance for her and her sister since they were small. Still, she couldn't appreciate even this version of him more than at that moment.

"Your sister is waiting for you at home. She doesn't want to go to sleep until she sees you, but my shift does not end until late tonight. I'll stop by your room later so we can talk to her over the telephone. Is that okay?" her father asked as the other doctors - his colleagues - arrived to bring her to the exam room. She nodded once, a sharp nod which meant that she understood with no confusion.

The police came around even later, just after she had managed to send her sister off to bed with her father's help. Even though the nine year old girl must have been exhausted by this time, she stuck to her word and stayed up the entire night since she learnt that Clarisse had been found. She had to admit that even her little sister's normally annoying rambling was a joy to hear compared to the silence at the bottom of that well.

"Can you tell us anything about the man who kidnapped you? Did he say anything to you while you were with him?" It was a woman asking, miraculously, in French.

Blinking, Clarisse stared at her. Even at home they tended to speak English nowadays, so it had been a while since she heard anyone speak her native tongue. She signed to the translator sitting beside the agent, indicating that it was okay if they spoke in English, and that she wasn't sure how much she could help. Still, she would definitely try if it might help catch the bastard who did that to them.

"You can understand English?" asked the woman who was also an FBI agent. Clarisse nodded. "One of the boys who was kidnapped along with you said that you couldn't understand it."

She shrugged; she wasn't sure who it was that the agents were talking about, but she didn't exactly make a concentrated effort to talk to the others while they were held captive. Most of them were quiet and only that one boy tried to speak to everyone else. She ignored them for the majority of the time, so perhaps it had just seemed that she couldn't understand English.

"Okay, why don't we start at the beginning? How did this all happen? You can take your time. Try to close your eyes and go through what you were doing that day slowly." The woman's voice was calm and steady. Clarisse was particularly attentive to people's voices, now that they could no longer hear her own and her world was partially locked in silence.

She thought for a bit. It was the weekend. Her younger sister stayed at the local daycare whenever their father was working, on weekends which was often, and Clarisse didn't mind staying home alone. She was old enough now, and she and her sister had such contrasting personalities that they tended to argue when left to their own devices for too long. Most of the time she didn't have a reason to leave the house.

She did leave, though, to fetch the mail. Since she was leaving for only a minute, she didn't lock the door and didn't notice anyone sneak inside the house. There were only a few other kids playing around outside in their front yards, but she figured that most of them were inside or in the back.

When she returned, the man grabbed her, gagged her, tied her up, and tossed her in the closet until it was dark enough for him to sneak out of the house. He had to have known that her father wouldn't pick up her little sister that night, because she was staying at a friend's place. That night was her father's late shift.

Clarisse paused to reach for the styrofoam cup on the hospital tray. She might not have been speaking, but she was tired from the whole ordeal. The exhaustion in her limbs had numbed them completely and it took all of her energy to continue signing to the translator. The FBI agent asked her if she wanted to stop for tonight, even though they both knew that they didn't have the luxury of time.

She continued. The man, who was tall and strong, but dressed in dark clothing and was therefore unrecognizable, had forced her to drink from a bottle of water that made her lethargic and dizzy. He drove her to wherever it was that he kept them - a cold, dank basement with wooden beams for a ceiling and cool grey concrete for a floor.

There were two others - children now identifiable as Skylar and Harper Adair. Skylar, hidden in the corner, didn't talk when Harper tried to speak to the both of them. He hardly even glanced up when the man returned with another kid a day later, or when Clarisse fought him tooth and nail each time he entered the room.

She glanced at her bruised hands and arms and grinned. It was worth the effort.

And, strangely, Prentiss noted as the young girl told her story, she had also believed Harper Adair to be a boy. It might not have been an important detail, but she filed the information away just in case it _did _mean something.

* * *

- I am not dead! I actually had most of this written for a while now, so I decided to finish it up. I've been reorganizing my stories (by actually making outlines), so hopefully updates won't be so horribly slow anymore. I usually don't update because I've forgotten what's happend in the story by the time I sit down to write again.


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